


Stimulus

by gaymusicians (benjaminschiffplatt)



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Depression, Dirk is a wreck, M/M, Sadstuck, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 06:52:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3560228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benjaminschiffplatt/pseuds/gaymusicians
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You always knew he was a loaded gun, but you hadn't realized the safety was off, especially between the two of you. You never knew he'd go off in your direction, but he did and the bullet wound to your chest doesn't seem to heal like the wounds on your wrist do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stimulus

The carving of your skin is the stimulus, the response your body has is to bleed, red liquid flowing from your ever-sore wrist like the creek water flows from the river main.  
The razor you use hurts less than you hope it does anyway. Nothing could ever hurt enough to distract you from the pain Jake shot into your heart when his mouth pulled the trigger of the words, "I'm leaving."  
You always knew he was a loaded gun, but you hadn't realized the safety was off, especially between the two of you. You never knew he'd go off in your direction, but he did and the bullet wound to your chest doesn't seem to heal like the wounds on your wrist do.  
Your friends' hands linger on your shoulders and offer a vague comfort in their words, telling you things you know aren't true but are nice lies to think in any case.  
Your numb state of mind allows you to believe some of the blatant lies, for a while. Eventually the truth catches up with you, usually in the dark of the night when the only light to be seen is the moon glinting from the silver touch on your wrist and the clear drops sliding down your face from behind the mask of your shades. These times are the easiest to smile, if you can believe it. You find happiness in the truth that you will never be good enough. You have found your place in society and you couldn't be happier, after all, every group of friends needs a fuckup to blame at the end of a long day and what sort of a person would you be if you didn't volunteer for the position.  
In the end, your life doesn't matter much. You contemplate why you were picked for the position of laughingstock, but ultimately decide not to over think the situation. It isn't like they can't replace you easily, especially since you've been pulling away ever so slightly since Jake shattered your heart. He still rings around your circle of friends, twisting your heart as he smiles at you as though your many months together meant nothing. He's probably right, though. The two of you might as well as have never dated, and it was never a competition, but you can't help feeling as though he won in the end. He smiles brighter and Jane and Roxy join in his ringing laughter with much more enthusiasm than if you were present. You stay away, if not for their sake, yours. Your self-esteem doesn't need another Jake-related drop.  
You think about all this as though it is his fault, but you know it's yours. You know you drove him to half-madness with your personality and you can't say that your looks helped keep him around for anything more than pity. The only comfort you can find is that the very skin that repulsed him so is scarred over with razor thin lines of pink, improperly bandaged with gauze and the tear stains of your wicked, wicked eyes.  
The lines trail everywhere now. It has been many weeks since you last saw Jake, but the scars pile up nonetheless. Your fragile ankles to your hipbones that jut from your pale freckled skin to your sharp collarbone, the skin between is peppered heavily with the marks you have so delicately placed there. It isn't punishment anymore, but habit. The addiction wears on you, blood loss leads to lack of appetite, split skin leads to illness. Your sunken eyes have seen little sleep since Jake stole your heart away for the worse.  
Your health is steadily declining, but you can't bring yourself to care. It's enough effort to just bring your fingers around the metal, to push it and slide the sharpness of silver across your parting flesh. You don't feel the need to waste your precious life reserve caring about yourself. No one else seems to waste their time looking over your wounds, worrying over your health, so you decide that you won't either.  
You mull over it all in your head as you lean against the wall of the bathroom again, pushing the sleeve of your blood stained hoodie up for the umpteenth time this week. You slip your thumb over the smooth metal blade and think about your pride. You never cried when Jake left. In fact, you hardly said a word, despite his tear stained face and scratchy voice. It was an accurate representation of the relationship the two of you had shared. You, proud and solemn as his passive aggression became a storm that rattled your brain and utterly destroyed your emotions. Maybe that's why he left, you were never one for his emotional talks.  
In any case, your unreadable expressions now give way to a twisted grimace and quiet, violent sobs as you place the blade against your upper forearm and push with all the disdain you can muster, dragging weakly across pale scars. This is your favorite place to feel the sharp pinch of adrenaline and self-hatred.  
At the very moment, your phone is vibrating, making odd buzzing noises against the tile of the floor three feet away from you. The sound is unfamiliar; none of your friends contact you anymore and your brother calls on a schedule, if only to pretend to care because of your familial bond.  
A quick glance tells you your unexpected caller is Jake. Even more unexpected. You scoff and shake your tired head, instead opting to place another line of dread across your tattered skin.  
The buzzing stops after a moment, but resumes again within a minute. You roll your eyes and set down the bloody metal tool before replacing it in your hand with the phone, pressing the Accept Call button.  
It's a painful conversation. Jake sounds hurried and as thought he were forced to call. He says something along the lines of Jane and Roxy missing you, and then stutters around a lie about how he misses you, about how he worries about you.  
You keep your replies short, very brief and cordial. After politely reiterating that you are indeed fine for the thousandth time, you end the call and hang your head in shame. Are you so pathetic that the only person on the planet to care is your ex-boyfriend, and only out of pity? You are disgusted with yourself and as punishment and out of pure habit, draw yourself another dozen lines of physical misery across your alabaster skin before the blood loss begins to be too much for your frail body and you must lie down, half dragging yourself to your bleak and lonely bedroom without bothering to clean yourself up. You fall asleep slowly, thinking, hoping, even praying that tonight will be the night that you don't wake up.

**Author's Note:**

> As my first posted work on Ao3, I'd like to say thanks for reading! Drop me a line sometime, eh?  
> Also, sorry for short and sad DirkJake.  
> ~s


End file.
